


When The Sun Doesn't Shine

by Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage



Series: Secrets and Saviours [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Before all the cuteness that will come, Divorce, Gen, Greg's going through a tough time, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mycroft To The Rescue, Post-Divorce, Pre-Relationship, Some Fluff, greg needs a hug, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 11:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18151580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage/pseuds/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage
Summary: Sometimes, those who shine the brightest have their darkest days.Greg Lestrade has just had his divorce finalised and has struggled to cope. Visiting the pub by the Yard every night, he is eventually picked up by Mycroft Holmes. Who would have thought friendship would find itself into such high places?





	When The Sun Doesn't Shine

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So at the end of the second chapter of 'The Demons Beneath Our Feet' I mentioned how Mycroft helped Greg through a tough time. Here's a little glimpse into what happened.

The pub was loud. Too loud. Drunkards from all over the local area had swarmed, swigging alcohol and sloshing about the place as though they owned it. There were shouts of merriment, there were growls of aggression, and cheers the moment a fight broke out accompanying the smash of glass against the wooden stained floor.

In the darkened corner of a booth, a man rested his head against the table. Around him rested six or seven pint glasses, only one of them half full with some kind of lager. His clothes were rumpled, his hair unwashed and unbrushed, his face was unshaven; this man was Greg Lestrade, Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard. 

“Inspector, I do believe I need to discuss something with you.”

Greg lifted his head from the table, grunting at the way it swam and his stomach lurched with the sudden movement. Unfocused eyes squinted in the light, barely able to focus on the person who had spoken. It only took him being able to distinguish the suit and voice before he groaned and let his head return to the table with a thud. 

“Mr. Holmes, t’what do I owe the pleasure?” He grumbled against the wood, seeming unbothered at being seen in this manner.

“Outside,  _ now _ .”

Roughly, Greg’s shirt was grasped at the shoulder and he was suddenly forced onto his feet. The drunken man gave a surprised yelp as he was dragged, the strength of which was more than alarming, and then rather unceremoniously shoved out of the pub door with no more than an irritated huff. 

The fresh air was both a blessing and a curse. Greg inhaled deeply and exhaled too quickly, his stomach giving another traitorous jerk before he found himself hunching over the gutter and throwing up with a whine.

“Has the Yard truly slipped to such standards?” Came a rather primal growl from behind the man, Mycroft watching him with icy cold eyes. “You are a Detective Inspector, yet you allow yourself to fall to such a level that you are hardly better than the common drunkard that plagues these streets. I had thought of you a better man, Gregory Lestrade.” There was a pause for breath, though Mycroft was far from done. “I have entrusted you with the task of helping prevent my brother from following a path similar to this, was I incorrect in my judgement of your character? Are you truly not the man I believe you to be? You ought to be ashamed of yourself-.”

“Why?” Greg's voice cracked under the strain, his bloodshot eyes locking with Mycroft’s over his shoulder as the thick tears continually rolled down his cheeks. He raised a trembling hand, running it through his greasy, unwashed hair before grabbing a handful and tugging. “ _ Why _ ? Why should I be ashamed of myself, Mycroft? Let me ask you this, with your smart-ass mouth an’... an’ your all-seeing-eye. Why wasn’t I  _ good enough _ ?!” His voice raised to a shout, a choked sob escaping before he could stop it. “Why wasn’t I good enough for her, Mycroft? What did those other men have that I didn’t? How did I fail her?”

Mycroft was not a man who understood emotions such as the ones which plagued the Detective Inspector. He did not break under pressure, he did not let others affect him to such a degree either. But seeing Greg like this… it broke his heart. The usually sunny man, always smiling, always doing his best, had finally reached the end of his tether. 

“Inspector.” The word left his lips and he frowned, it tasting sour in his mouth. No, this wasn’t the right word. Not any longer. “Gregory, I need you to hear me now.” Carefully, he reached out a hand and clasped the trembling man’s shoulder. “You are, and have always been enough. You are a good man, loyal to a fault… it was her flawed nature which caused her to seek other men. She could not see just how good she had it-.”

“I was never there. She would beg me to come home sometimes, when I’d been working longer and longer shifts. We knew it would happen when I became DI, but…” Greg trailed off, feeling the urge to vomit rising once again. Quickly he hunched over the gutter, not fighting it as the remainders of his lunch came up and burned as it went. He spat out the terrible taste, wincing as he wiped the corners of his mouth with the end of his coat sleeve. “The reality got too much for her. I wasn’t enough for her anymore.” 

Whatever Mycroft had expected, it wasn’t this. Standing there in the freezing rain, holding his trusty umbrella above Greg’s hunched figure, he could see the telltale shudders of his back and realised that he had begun to cry. Not quietly, but the kind of crying which started as shuddering wheezes and rose to guttural moans of misery, then devolved into wailing. His face had turned red and his eyes were shut tight, his mouth hanging open and mucus drizzling from his nose. 

“I tried so fucking hard. I worked so hard for us! All those double shifts, coming home to an empty house and an empty wallet at the end of the week. Not knowing if I was going to find another bloke’s underwear in  _ my  _ bedroom that I’d have to pretend not to notice!” Greg sobbed, covering his face with his hand as he fought to compose himself. He felt sick to his stomach, his head hurt and he wanted the pain in his chest to stop. He knew it would be a while before it would. 

A hand came to rest on his upper back, hesitant and light in case the contact wasn’t wanted, and made a small circular motion. At first, Greg only felt confusion, his sobs turning into dreaded hiccups as he realised that Mycroft was  _ attempting _ to comfort him. He tilted his head, looking at the other man as though trying to read him. Then, his body moved of its own accord.

He embraced Mycroft Holmes with no intention of letting go.

“Come along, Gregory… Shall we get you home?”

* * *

Greg could hardly remember the journey home, sat in the back of Mycroft’s big posh car while tucked into his side like a rather small child. He kept nodding in and out of consciousness, the alcohol he’d drunk that night catching up with him at last. He couldn’t remember being assisted to his front door, a hand delving into his pocket to collect his keys, and he definitely couldn’t remember tucking his head into Mycroft’s neck as they stood there on his porch. 

“Do you need help getting yourself to bed?” 

There was a pause, Greg unable to stifle a chuckle and immediately Mycroft gave a sound of… wait, was that embarrassment? 

“I don’t believe you can walk on your own is what I mean, Gregory. Would you like help?”

From the safety of Mycroft’s neck, Greg nodded and sniffled as emotion welled up in his chest once again. He uttered a whimper and tried to stand on his own, his body betraying him as he began to sway dangerously. 

“Why’re you helpin’ me, Mycroft?” He asked, ignoring how difficult it was to say the other man’s name. “Is this your way of tellin’ me you don’t want me to help with Sherlock anymore? Be-Because that’s not gonna go down well with either me or your little brother. I like helpin’ him!”

“Because you are, as you would say, a good one.”

That statement seemed to be the last thing Mycroft felt comfortable to say, the slightest pink tinge on the man’s cheeks enough to silence Greg’s thoughts where they began. The silver-haired DI smiled a little, wiping his eyes before finally gesturing inside with a vague gesture that meant  _ help me?  _

They journeyed into the house together, stumbling whenever Greg’s legs gave out beneath him or Mycroft lost his footing in the darkness. Luckily, Greg was insistent that he’d climb the stairs alone, going on his hands and knees to do so. Meanwhile, Mycroft quickly found the kitchen and fetched a glass of water, locating the medicine drawer in the corner and grabbing a couple paracetamol for the headache tomorrow. 

“Myc?”

“I’ll be right there, Gregory. Go to your room and settle down.”

Greg didn’t remember much beyond that point. He didn’t remember fumbling with his clothes and clambering into bed with only his boxers. He didn’t remember asking Mycroft to stay the night, to keep his company a little longer. He certainly didn’t remember the other man agreeing and sitting at his bedside until the early rays of dawn peeked through the curtains. 

By the time Mycroft came to leave Greg had been long gone, sleeping soundly in his bed with tear stained cheeks. He was blissfully unaware of the way the elder of the Holmes brothers lingered at his bedroom door, seeming unwilling to leave, his eyes filled with some unreadable emotion until he finally forced himself to make a hasty exit. 

A note remained next to the glass of water and paracetamol, neat writing scrawled across it in black ink. 

_ Sometimes, those who shine the brightest have their darkest days. Do not be afraid to seek out a friend, I hope you can someday include me in such a role. - MH _


End file.
